|No, these aren't bride's feet!|
It's a summer of change. Everyone's getting married and having babies. Last Sunday, I went to a hen party and was vomited on, not by a drunken hen, but by a nine month old baby. It was the first time I'd ever been to a hen party where boys were allowed, two very cute boys who crawled around as if they'd drunk all the Prosecco.
Personally I'm not going to have babies until I see some better advertising for them. All I ever hear is how exhausted parents are. How utterly, unimaginably fatigued they are. I uncover their weariness in fiction and non-fiction. I think I've been particularly scarred by the novel Night Waking about an academic trying to write a book while looking after two little children on some remote island in Scotland. I felt exhausted reading that book. I even began to think I actually had two small children myself.
I've got four weddings left to attend this year, two couples whose relationship has developed over many years and two that were stabbed in the heart with cupid's arrow, followed by a knock over the head with his bow, who, within less than a year knew they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. Luckily none of these couples are connected in any way so I can wear the same dress four times.
Actually dressing is going to be a problem for this Friday's wedding because I had my nails painted fluorescent orange and they are still in great nick. I feel like the only way I'm going to pull off the look is if I acquire a fluorescent orange handbag. Or fluorescent orange shoes... Oh don't worry, I'm not really the kind of person who makes decisions based on the colour of her nails (but seriously, what about grey and bright orange?).
My brother is also getting married this year. Next month, in fact, to his beautiful girlfriend of seven years. She caught the bouquet at my own wedding a couple of years ago, despite two of my very competitive (and already engaged) friends battling in the midst of all the single ladies. I ordered them to remove themselves from the group but they were like naughty school girls (they know who they are, and now you do because here's the photo).
I don't think it'll sink in that my brother is getting married until I'm on that plane to Mallorca. I'm getting teary-eyed just thinking about it. Aw... Then again, I've shed tears watching Master Chef, Dragon's Den, The Eurovision Song Contest (probably), Strictly Come Dancing and nearly every film I've ever watched. In fact, if the music was emotive enough, I'd probably cry watching an advert for weed killer.
Anyway, the wedding of one's sibling is very special and I want them both to be very happy. I'd also like to them to live in the same country as me. But mainly, I just wish them all the happiness in the world. But really, they should move to London. (If you're reading this bro, London has been pretty sunny recently, and in seven years it'll be sunny again).
While change is descending on many people around me, in my own life I've been feeling like time has stood still. I think it's the typical feeling of August. When I was little, every August my parents would shove what seemed like everything they owned in the car, squeeze us into the back pockets of the front seats, and drive across France until they hit Spain. We would spend the whole month in a sleepy village in the Pyrenees, living the simple life.
I'm still waiting for news from publishers but I'm not refreshing my email so much. I'm slowly editing a book on blogging for the kindle and getting on with plotting the next novel. Change comes when you least expect it, so I'm going to pretend I don't expect it.
... doop di doo...
No new Emails.
Okay, so I need to work on my expression of nonchalance. Change will come. In the meantime it's more than enough to join in these happy celebrations with my friends and family.
Seriously. It is!